


Along With Lethargy

by sulfuricjam (mcthaneskies)



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: M/M, Porteon, Portgo - Freeform, Sick!Porter, hugo leclercq - Freeform, hugo pierre leclercq, i think its cute but idk, madeon - Freeform, porter robinson - Freeform, porter's sick and hugo made it his responsibility to take care of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcthaneskies/pseuds/sulfuricjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porter's sick and Hugo has made it his outmost responsibility to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Along With Lethargy

 

Being sick had its pros and cons. One of the pros of being sick was being able to call in and not attend work. The con, though, was the sick, weak feeling that you had within yourself. Usually pros outweighed the cons, but today was an exception.

 

Now, don’t be fooled, Porter was a enthusiastic with the fact that he was able to take a day off from writing and producing his upcoming album; he figured that he even deserved a break, even if it would only last a day. The only thing that bothered him, though, was the fact that Hugo had made it his responsibility to take care of him as if he had typhoid fever. Hugo fucking Leclercq. 

 

It wasn’t that Porter didn’t like the guy; they we’re practically best friends at this point in time, having met at the age of twelve over the internet and maintaining a friendship that lasted for years. Hugo was one of the first people that he showed demos of his debut album to, and since this is Porter Robinson we’re talking about, Leclercq should consider himself special.

 

What he didn’t appreciate was that Hugo insisted to do everything for Porter as if he was a five-year-old. Porter was sure that he could pour milk into his own cereal, thank you very much.

 

**_5:27 AM_ **

 

Perhaps it was just the nagging voice at the back of Porter’s head telling him to prove to the French motherfucker that he could very much do things by himself; because soon enough Porter found himself waking up at the break of dawn, coughing hard enough that he reckoned he’d probably be able to cough out his lungs at this point. 

 

He needed cough medicine — lots of it. He had taken some during an earlier time with the doctor’s prescription, but he dare say that it wasn’t enough. So being the stupid, dumb fuck he is, Porter Robinson snuck out of his bedroom to retrieve the cough medicine Hugo stowed away in the fridge.

 

Besides, the last time he had taken his medicine was approximately five hours earlier when Hugo had woken him up at midnight. The doctor said that it should be taken every six hours, and even if he would take it thirty three minutes earlier, it wouldn’t do much harm; would it?

 

He swallowed most of them in one go, washing it away with a glass of water. Fuck you, Hugo. Porter _could_ do things by himself. 

 

But as established since the dawn of time, Porter Robinson was a dumb fuck. His head became foggy and he disregarded the fact that he could die due to overdosage. The drugs were getting to his head; the side effects starting to kick in. His body felt weak, his eyelids were getting heavier with each passing second and his legs felt limp. Porter tried to make it to his bedroom, to just sleep everything off. But at that point in time, his legs finally gave up on him, as he collapsed on his sofa.

 

**_5:42 AM_ **

 

It was almost six in the morning, and Hugo was not able to catch a bit of sleep.

 

It was odd, wasn’t it? People would feel tired throughout the day and crave the rest that the night would give them; but once they’re in bed, they can’t sleep at all. 

 

That was the situation Hugo had at hand.

 

He had spent the a few hours of the early morning writing new songs and listening to various demos on Soundcloud; even taking his boredom to the dark part of the website to see what Soundclouders have done to his songs. Some of them were good, but the others had murdered his songs and he couldn’t figure out if some were intentional or not.

 

He checked the time and realised that it was almost time for Porter to take his cough medicine. He closed his laptop and headed out of Porter’s guest room to make him drink his prescription. But as he made his way out of the room, he was met with the form of Porter Robinson passed out in his living room sofa, and a box of pills was abandoned on the kitchen table. The scene was easily to deduct; Porter had woken up in and decided to take his medicine earlier than he should have.

 

Luckily, Porter couldn’t die of overdosage, because Hugo had left just enough medicine in the box for one last intake before they would need to go the drugstore and buy another box of medicine.

 

Sometimes Hugo wondered why he even decided to keep their friendship somewhat stable all these years.

 

Having decided that it wasn’t safe to leave Porter home alone, Hugo put on his pants and a jacket before taking his car keys and forcing Porter to wake up. He could _not_ go to the drugstore alone, especially if Porter was going to be this stupid.

 

Hugo made his way to Porter’s closet, opening it and finding a suitable pair of jeans for him to wear. He went back to the living room and threw the garments into Porter’s general direction, though he didn’t even stir.

 

“Wake up,” Hugo started shaking Porter vigorously for a few minutes, before his eyes opened slightly and landed on Hugo. “We’re going to the drugstore.”

 

“W-Why—“ Porter groaned. “Can’t you go by yourself?”

 

“Judging by what you’ve done to yourself here, I can’t exactly do that,” said Hugo. “I’d feel much better if you came with me.”

 

“You’re not even the one who’s sick,” mumbled Porter, as a sneeze followed.

 

Porter made a brief fuss but nevertheless put his pants on. His head throbbed lightly and he was drowsy as well, so if Hugo found him sleeping at the cashier, it might as well have been acceptable. 

 

He staggered behind Hugo as he tried to keep up with his pace. He was walking awfully fast—or was Porter just being remarkably slow? Either way, it was probably Hugo’s fault because he had really fucking long legs.

 

Porter climbed into the backseat as Hugo ignited the engine. Despite being far too big for the entire seat, Porter laid down and passed out. 

 

**—**

 

It was a dreadful experience for Hugo when they finally arrived at the drugstore.

 

It was a dreadful experience for Hugo when he tried to rouse Porter.

 

It was a dreadful experience altogether.

 

Porter had fallen asleep too many times on Hugo’s shoulder as the latter looked for the right medicine, gaining weird looks from the early morning customers. Luckily, it being six in the morning, there weren’t a lot of people, though they still attracted attention.

 

“Fucking hell, Robinson, get off of me—“

 

“It’s your fault,” mumbled Porter. “If you just let me stay at home and sleep, you could have gone to the drugstore on your own and be spared from this.”

 

“I’m not taking that chance,” said Hugo. “For all I know, if I left you there, I could come back to see all the furniture disarranged.”

 

Porter scoffed. How could he, in this drowsy state, be able to disorganise all the furniture in the house?

 

Silence followed after that as Hugo finally found the correct box of pills.

 

**—**

 

Porter was sure that it was just the drugs getting to his brain.

 

Maybe it had other side effects that weren’t placed on the back on the box. Maybe the side effect wasn’t _only_ drowsiness. Maybe the strong medication’s consequence wasn’t only lethargy. Maybe its other effect was gathering enough stupidity to tell your best friend that he was hot.

 

As Porter laid down to rest at the back of Hugo’s car, he looked up to the French man, and before he knew it, words were coming out of his mouth; “Y-You’re actually pretty fucking hot, Leclercq,” said Porter, wearing a grin. 

 

Maybe it was just Porter’s intoxicated state speaking. That must be the only rational reason, wouldn’t it be? “Thanks,” Hugo said, a bit uneasy at Porter’s newfound saying.

 

“If I weren’t sick, you know, we should totally make out,” said Porter soporifically. “Because that would be cool.”

 

Hugo turned around from his place in the driver’s seat only to find that Porter had _finally_ passed out, thank god. Only then did he realise that Porter had a cute sleeping face on when he was ill, and resisted the urge to take a photo.

 

Maybe he’d comply to Porter’s want for a make out.

**Author's Note:**

> so,,thanks for reading this piece of trash i guess
> 
> please leave a comment or something?? haha


End file.
